It's not all about Card: Mormons and Science Fiction

All right, all right. After much harassment from Ben, I've been compelled to post something on my blog about what I've been up to. I just handed in a final paper with the title "Of Saints and Starships: The History of Mormons and Science Fiction." No, it is not all about Orson Scott Card. Seriously people. It's a twelve page long beast listing many of the intersections of Mormonism and science fiction. Here's some interesting excerpts, none of which include the ever delightful Card:

There are two strains of thought on the relationship between religion and science fiction. One view is that these two are inevitable partners because of their scale and themes, a view best represented by C. S. Lewis: “If you have a religion it must be cosmic; therefore it seems to me odd that this genre [religious science fiction] was so late in arriving” (Lewis 125).

. . .

The first [Mormon science fiction] is a short story/play by Parley P. Pratt in 1844 entitled “A Dialogue between Joseph Smith and the Devil,” which portrays a conversation between two regarding the success of the Restoration. . . . . As a work of science fiction, it must be admitted that the piece is fairly shallow. Most of the speculative fiction elements fall into the accusation that religious science fiction is primarily allegorical—the story exists primarily to convey a barely veiled ideas attempt to preach the Mormon message. However, this story undeniably represents an attempt by a Mormon to represent the tenets of his religion through speculative fiction framework.

. . .

Ironically, the short stories of inactive Mormon Zenna Henderson from the same period [1950s-1960s] show a more obvious LDS influence. In 1951, she published the first of her “People” stories. Her stories featured an alien race, dubbed “the People,” forced to emigrate to Earth because of the impending destruction of their home planet. Landing in the southwestern United States (Henderson spent most of her life in Arizona), the People established a society separate from humanity both to preserve their unique culture and to prevent harassment because of their unique psychic gifts. The analog to the establishment of Utah by the early Mormons is obvious, though it has apparently never been commented on by scholars . . . .

. . .

Additionally, three collections of specifically Mormon science fiction were published during the late 80s and early 90s entitled LDSF: Latter-Day Science Fiction (Thousand Oaks, CA: Millennial Productions 1982). These collections were inextricably tied to Mormon culture: the second volume contains an introductory essay by Hugh Nibley and stories that speculate on missionary work involving time travel and a future church where only women have the priesthood. (A copy with margin notes by Hugh Nibley can be found in the BYU library’s Ancient Studies room.) These collections are of mediocre quality and are generally little known . . . .

. . .

Six main themes of science fiction which coincide with the interests of Mormon theology:
1. The identity of the human race and possibilities for human progression
2. The identity of the individual; questions of destiny and free will
3. Explanations for the “homesickness” of the human soul
4. The identity of God; the conflict posed by discovering other belief systems
5. Responsibility for personal actions; the ability to atone for mistakes that affect others
6. The ideal structure of society; the treatment of fellow beings

. . .

Michael R. Collings studies several mainstream science fiction stories with prominent references to Mormonism, the most notable being the satiric “Fosterite Church of the New Revelation” in Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land (New York: Berkley, 1961); the sexually repressed hypocrite Nephi Sarvant in Philip Jose Farmer’s Flesh (New York: Signet, 1986); and the attempt to theologically sanitize Mormonism in Piers Anthony’s Planet of Tarot trilogy (New York: Jove, 1979) (Collings). In other words, . . . many of the Mormon stereotypes of the 19th century had survived intact in genre fiction, and specifically science fiction.

If you're interested in this stuff you might check out the following websites:

• http://www.adherents.com/lit/sf_lds.html - A comprehensive list of all mentions of LDS characters in mainstream SF novels.
• http://mormonsf.org/ - A database maintained by Marny Parkin containing a comprehensive collection of all science fiction written by Mormon authors, as well as a list of non-fiction about Mormon SF authors.
• http://mormonsf.org/reading.html - Marny Parkin’s recommended survey reading list of Mormon science fiction.

Come, Let us Reason Together: A Nibleyesque Musing

I have one thing to say for the readings this week: Nibley’s “Beyond Politics” is pure genius! I especially enjoyed Nibley’s elaboration on how God wants us to understand the plan of salvation—how, unlike Satan, He cares to negotiate with us until we understand. “God is willing to discuss things with men as an equal.” So often, the world sees living a religion as necessitating blind faith, willfully ignoring the conflicts we see in the world. But this is so backward from what is real that it’s ridiculous. It’s the philosophies of the world that tell us to accept things as they are, not to ask why, but to simply accept that it is. “That’s just life,” the world tells us. It points out the huge gaping dilemmas, cries how incomprehensible the world is, and retreats back into ignorance. Heavenly Father, on the other hand, wants us to ask why, forces us to look at the tough questions and demand answers.

I think the world sometimes avoids religion because we are, as C.S. Lewis said, afraid that if we actually look for God, we would actually find Him, which means a great deal of responsibility. I’ve had friends come up against problems with the Church that they see as irreconcilable—whether it be why women don’t have the priesthood, why their parents got divorced, or why their loved one had to suffer or die. To me, it seemed that the only reason the problems remained for them is because they refused to demand answers from the source. They continued to seek out worldly philosophies on the subject, which they hoped might explain the problem but which inevitably brought more and more questions into their lives. They had laid down their scriptures and their prayers, which is where they ought to have been seeking their answers all along. When I find seemingly unanswerable questions, it’s often because I’m not looking in the right place for the answers.

Another great corollary of this discussion is that deciding to live a righteous life does not mean that all discussion ceases. As Nibley points out, even in the beginning, there was a counsel in heaven. In the Church, we sometimes portray this key discussion as more of a gathering for a one-way dispensation from God, but I think it’s important to notice the collaborative nature of the word. Nibley casts an interesting light on this: “Satan was not cast out for disagreeing, but for attempting to resort to violence when he found himself outvoted.” I’m not sure that I quite buy it doctrinally, but it certain fits into Nibley’s picture of the universe as an essential collaboration between God and men. After all, we believe our intelligences to be equally eternal with God’s; He’s simply further ahead in the plan than we are. Why shouldn’t we all have had a say in how things work?

In contrast with the godly reasoning Nibley presents in “Beyond Politics,” the worldly philosophies exposed in “The Way of the ‘Intellectuals’” look like the pathetic counterfeits that they are. Rather than equality and plainness of God’s “come, let us reason together,” the figures Nibley describes from the Book of Mormon rely on power, charisma, and elitism to make their points. If you disagree with them, it’s merely your lack of judgment. There’s no room for disputation as there is in the kingdom of God. It’s amazing just how plain the difference is when you put these philosophies side-by-side. It’s one of the reasons I’m glad to be studying at BYU. The “open” liberalism espoused by other colleges is actually more confining than they think—no universal truths mean the stability must be made up by embracing current trends. At BYU, however, being united in the gospel gives us a firm foundation for exploring all areas of truth.

The Problem of Perfection: Part III

So I figured out why I had a sudden influx of random people a few weeks ago: I was highlighted on The Archipelago Digest, an LDS blog review/digest cool-thing. Well, belated hello to you all (assuming some of you are still reading). I'm not sure I like the pressure of being classified as part of the Bloggernacle, although I guess I self-sorted anyway. I feel like I should be blogging about more church topics, when lately my blogging has been skewed towards writerly topics. I guess I don't like being confined to one subject area. Well, take me or leave me, I guess. :D

As a result of finding the Archipelago link, I've renewed my attempt at being more involved in the Bloggernacle. And when I say "involved" I mean "added a bunch of random feeds to my Google reader to see if I like them." (I'll post some sort of review in a few weeks.) One post on Zelophehad's Daughters caught my eye: Why I Hate Mormons. If that provocative title doesn't get you to read it, it's basically a discussion of dealing with the imperfection of Church members, and particularly Church leaders. Since I've been meaning to deal with this topic anyway (as part of my Problem of Perfection mini-series-whatever), I thought I'd post my discussion here. Mostly, I'm just wanting to organize my thoughts before treading into the comments section, where there is no edit button.

First off, although it's bad form, I'd like to start with a disclaimer. This is a big spherical chicken. Like, KFC family meal size. There are tons of situations where what I'm saying would need severe modification, especially in instances of abuse. But, as is usually the policy on this blog, try to ignore the exceptions and focus on the general philosophy instead. Good? Good. Moving on.

Okay, so I don't know anything about the author of the post--as I said I'm new to following this blog--but to me, the story sounds little lopsided and out of proportion. I try to be objective when I write, but I know that I color my actions a little, especially when I write rants against other people. It's natural to want to make ourselves out to be innocent--it makes for a better case. When I read this woman's story, I get the feeling that there's a definite amount of bias, probably because of the lack of admission of possible fault in the author. But, as I said, I don't know the details, so I can't really talk about the specific matter.

What I can talk about it this: I find it interesting that we (members of the church generally, and so-called liberal Mormons specifically) seem to think it's okay for us to condemn others for condemning us. The normal kinds of mistakes, we expect others to tolerate and be patient with, but the sin of intolerance is an automatic out. It's as if somehow intolerance is less important for us to forgive than more conventional faults like lying, cheating, and stealing. Which is clearly ridiculous. The atonement, and its corollary that we are required to forgive all men, covers both active sins and faults of character, like closed-mindedness and discrimination.

Just because you get called to be a bishop or Relief Society president doesn't make you perfectly capable. Theoretically, the further up the "chain of command" you go, the more nearly perfect the people are. But I would be cautious about saying even that much. Take Hugh Nibley's grandfather, Charles Nibley, who was the Presiding Bishop. Arguably, that's high up enough to hold him to a pretty high standard. Yet, on his death bed, he told Hugh if an angel came through the door, he would jump out the window because of the things he had done in order to be successful in business. Clearly, the Lord's standard for calling people is not ours. Of course it's not. It seems to me that this idea of a "minimum standard" of perfection for Church callings is largely illusory, or at least considerably lower than most of us set it.

And this difference in standards causes problems for us, because people in Church callings, even those of high authority, are far from perfect. This often causes pain. I'm not saying that it shouldn't. Imperfection hurts, especially when it comes from people we expect to be able to love or trust. The only place it hurts worse than in Church leadership is in our own families, as CS Lewis discusses in The Four Loves: because our families and our leaders theoretically love us and have stewardship over us, we grow to expect a sort of mind reading, unfair though it may be, and when we don't get it, we get hurt.

However, as I see it, there are two ways of looking at the imperfection of people in the Church, and for that matter in the world in general. Either you can say, as Lady Amalthea seems to have, "These people are wrong, ignorant, and stupid. They're hopeless, and if they are the best the church has to offer, it's unfortunate that I have to be a part of it. How can God allow these people to do these things as his representatives? Wouldn't it be much better to have the Gospel without the Church?" For me, this way seems extremely unhealthy, because it implies that idea of a "tolerable level" of perfection, when in fact, from God's perspective, even the best of us make very little progress in this life.

Here's my counter-statement to the above attitude. I can't claim to always apply it, but I try to remind myself of it whenever I am offended by someone's imperfection. "These people have probably never dealt with someone like me/a situation like this before, so I can see how it might be hard for them. Even though these people hold offices in the church, that doesn't mean they are perfect. God does believe in agency, after all: theirs and mine. He will call them, but He will also allow them to make the choices. I need to help them understand and communicate with me so that they can better deal with these situations, and I can better learn why they act this way. From this problem, we can all progress as children of God. "

In other words, we should look at the imperfection of the saints as a tool rather than a problem. Our intolerance of other's intolerance merely throws into relief our own intolerance. We need to bump up against these problems in order to grow in godly patience and love ourselves. The imperfection of the people in the Church is not an obstacle to the gospel. It is the gospel.

(For related thoughts, see Paradox of Tolerance, or posts tagged "tolerance.")

New Perspectives: A Nibleyesque Musing

So, every Friday for my Hugh Nibley class, we're supposed to ramble for one page on what we thought of the readings. You know I'm all for stealing homework for blogposts, so you may see a few of these this semester. But hey, it's Hugh Nibley, so it's for your own good!

Some very interesting readings this week—“Treasures in the Heavens” was, of course, astounding. It was interesting to me to see how Nibley treats things I would normally think of as abstract philosophies as concrete facts. As an English major, I often wonder how important the abstract concepts we discuss in class are because they seem so detached from what constitutes the majority of our lives. But Nibley makes no apologies for the fact that his ideas are big and seemingly unconnected to the mundanities of day-to-day life. He’s not concerned with forcing you to realize why his theories are relevant to you—if you don’t understand the importance of them, then perhaps you aren’t ready to read Nibley.

The idea of heaven being more concrete and real than this life also matched up with what I’m reading in CS Lewis’ The Great Divorce. Heaven is not going to be less real than this life, but more. We are here to prepare to experience that level of reality and power that we could not have managed without a body. I guess the reason we think of heaven as so spiritual and insubstantial is because we have difficulty imagining anything more concrete than this reality.

I really liked Nibley’s “An Intellectual Autobiography” on a couple of different levels. First, it was just a great piece of creative non-fiction. As a writer, I admire Nibley’s style in this piece: he doesn’t allow us to get bogged down in the details of his life, giving us just enough to move us through his intellectual journey without confusion. He makes everything fresh and humorous. Second, I really enjoy the idea of giving an intellectual autobiography. Isn’t that the story we’d rather tell—the story of how we grew as a person—rather than the dates, facts, and figures that normally occupy so much of a biography?

Finally, one particular passage really struck me, the one where Nibley talks about working through the entire nine floors of the Berkeley stacks. The idea is so very appealing that I’ve begun to think about trying to do this myself with the BYU library. It’s definitely a crazy project, but it would be so rewarding. Think of how much you could learn about interests you didn’t know you had just by browsing through the stacks of an entire library! Not to mention the bragging rights . . . .

“Educating the Saints” was one of the Nibley articles that I had read before. However, I saw it in a new light this time. I just completed a paper on early Mormon ideas about rhetoric and education. The section where Nibley explains Brigham Young’s lack of eloquence was very relevant to the paper I was writing. The early saints really cared very little for ideas about formal education; they unabashedly shared the truth as they found it and sought more, not worrying about clever phraseology or the opinions of the intellectual elite.

I wonder if we could not use a lot more of that, even at BYU. Sometimes it feels like, even in the undergrad years, there’s such a push to get enough accomplishments to fill out a good resume (or, as Nibley says, stand at attention at the end of an obituary). When you ask people what they are learning at school, they inevitably list classes and activities rather than ideas, which strikes me as sad. The university is very display oriented, so much so that when I mentioned that I am “learning just to learn” to a classmate, he didn’t know what I meant and expressed an extreme distrust for any supposedly higher motive in education: “I’m in it to get the grade so I can get into grad school.” Learning seems to be lost on the learned.

Strange Pilgrims and Story Theories

As I wrote about a while back, I've recently become concerned with the (apparently inverse) connection between personal happiness and artistic value. Not only does this apply to the author, but it also seems to come through in the nature of fiction. Books with happy, or at least fulfilling, endings tend to be looked down on by the artistic establishment, especially in recent years. Think of the frustrated endings of most Modern (the period, I mean: 1914-1960-ish) pieces, for instance, "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock". Don't get me wrong, it's one of my favorite poems, and yet there's no denying the complete lack of resolution. Something seems to tell us that this is inherently more beautiful than "and they all lived happily ever after."

And frankly, I don't like it. It creates a separation between what is popular and what is artistically good. In my personal time, I prefer to read modern drivel rather than the classics, mostly because I want a satisfying, empathetic ending. But I can't mention any of these books when I want to talk about "serious literature." Same thing with music: most people just want something they can empathize with; the ambiguous nature of most "high art" music leaves people feeling artistic, but not necessarily personally touched. Is there no way to unite the popular and the classics into one art again?

I say yes, and I have two sources from which this idea is derived: first, CS Lewis's The Pilgrim's Regress, and second, a relatively new movie called Stranger than Fiction. (I'll try not to spoil the movie here, since you all should go see it.) From these two, I've constructed my new theory of story based on longing and resolution. Basically, there are three types of story. The first is the aforementioned "happily ever after" story: it begins by developing a sense of longing and by the end of the book it is fulfilled. Girl meets boy, girl falls in love with boy, boy and girl get together. The end. In Pilgrim's Regress, this shows up as Jack's attempt to reach the Island through lust: you feel a longing, so you take action on it, but then it's over. Once the need is fulfilled, you are nowhere different than where you started. This is the bulk of pulp fiction, inconsequential pieces resulting in no higher meaning.

The second type of story is the current artistic standard. Since we can't reach greater heights through the fulfillment of longing, they say, obviously it is the longing itself, and not the fulfillment, that is artistic. So they avoid resolution, prolonging the desire until it is acute, then cutting it off without fulfillment. That way, the modern artist says, it lives on untouched forever. Returning to Pilgrim's Regress, Jack falls in "love" with Media, but she warns him they cannot consumate their love or else the spell will be broken. Finally, she must kill herself in order to maintain the pure beauty of their love without any damage by the "brown girls" of lust. Likewise, in Stranger than Fiction, the Professor points out that the book can only be a masterpiece if Harold Crick dies. If he lives, it's just another transformation story. If he dies, it's a tragically beautiful commentary on life. If the "Lady of Shalott" were to get together with Lancelot at the end of the poem, it would lose all artistic value. There is no way to have the cake and eat it too. And so modern art says we must starve to death in order to truly appreciate our food.

But there is a third way, a way that both fulfills and allows our eternal longing, or rather progression, to continue. I won't ruin the end of Stranger than Fiction, but in it, we see the third way out, which looks remarkably like Christ even in this decidedly secular film. CS Lewis, of course, makes it explicit in Pilgrim's Regress. Only in and through God can we simultaneously have both complete fulfillment and continually longing to be better. In terms of storytelling, this means the kind of longing and fulfillment where the fulfillment is only the beginning of a new journey, yet the same journey.

Often, we can make the jump from first to third level storytelling in love stories, which is perhaps why they are so popular: the newly forged couple continues their journey through life, but now together rather than apart. Their progression together never becomes stale, though we have the satisfaction now, and in the future. And perhaps this is also why many artistic types fail to recognize this form of storytelling. The distinction between the "happily ever after" and the "happily forever after" is difficult to make, and many stories that strive for it fall flat. But when we reach it, it's so much more dazzling that anything that could be written on merely prolonged longing, because it is the only real story--of us, Christ, and eternal progression.

(And seriously, take your favorite English major to see Stranger than Fiction, before it leaves the dollar theaters. Barring that, take me! I'm up for seeing it 2, 6, 10 more times. It makes the impractical literary theory I study a matter of life or death. :D Give me a call if you're going!)

Thought Stew

So I have a whole bunch of things to blog about, but school is currently consuming my life. And I do mean consuming in its fully literal sense. Once we hit reading day, things should slow down considerably. (I never work during finals' week (should that be possessive?), so I have a ton of free time.) Until then, I doubt I'll have time to pull together anything decent for you to read. But since I feel guilty leaving you out in the cold, consider this post a preview of things to come. Here's what's been occupying my mind:

• I GOT INTO MY STUDY ABROAD!! I was so nervous, but it's really happening! I'm going to England in the spring to walk all over and write stuff. Joni is coming too, and it's going to be miraculous! I can't think of a better way to spend two months! Although, this does mean I have to get in shape for the hiking bit . . . drat.
  
• I finished reading Style: Toward Clarity and Grace, and holy crap! it is amazing. I want to write about it in more detail later, but here's a two page summary of the book that I whipped out as part of my ELang final project. Hurrah for classes that motivate you to do what you already want to do. Sorry about the yucky formatting. No time for making it look better. Read it, or better yet, read the book. It will improve your consciousness of good writing. I can already feel a difference in how I think about things.
  
• On Friday, I had an epiphanic moment in History of Rhetoric class: I found my philosopher! I've always found at least some truth in each philosopher I've read, but I also invariably find problems which make their philosophies unacceptable. On December 8, I discovered Kenneth Burke. His theory of dramatism explains exactly why I feel so uncomfortable with experimental fiction that tries to eliminate storytelling *coughVirginiaWoolfcough*. And he has a pyramid theory of rhetoric that almost exactly echoes my circle theory that I've been ranting about for so long! I almost gasped when the teacher introduced it to us. It was like someone read my thoughts and deemed them worthy. It made me want to sing for joy! (I know; I'm a nerd.) I'm now planning to read at least some of his works over the break. I'll write when I find out more.
• Speaking of History of Rhetoric, I'm writing my final paper on early Mormon rhetoric. It's making me think a lot about the previous debate on what makes a good talk.
  
• I'm planning out some Christmas personal essays. Hope you guys are up to some of my crummy attempts at dialog.
• I saw Happy Feet over Thanksgiving break, which has strangely inspired an essay on dealing with the institutional Church in Mormon literature. I promise I'll explain later, though reading Orson Scott Card's review of the movie might help you see where I'm going. (The review is towards the end, but this column also has some stuff about Scotch tape and Bill Bryson, one of my favorite nonfiction authors, so you should just read the whole thing.)
• Also, some thoughts on lit crit provoked by CS Lewis' essay "Fern Seed and Elephants" are in the works. For anyone keeping score in my creativity/criticism debate, creativity is beating the snot out of criticism, but we'll find some virtue in her yet.
• And I promise I have a follow-up for Ben's rebuttal to my Santa post. I will defend Saint Nick to the end. "I believe in Santa Claus like I believe in love . . . ." (Maybe that's not so apt after the last two posts.)

And people wonder why I'm so distracted.

Influences

It's a strange fact of writing that we often don't remember where elements of our style come from. For instance, I'm rereading The Silver Chair, which I haven't actually read since first grade. And it suddenly struck me that my fictional style as a child, and even somewhat now, was very imitative of CS Lewis. In particular, he tends to insert asides from the author in the first person. For instance:

"I'm not," said Eustance. "I swear I'm not. I swear by--by everything."

(When I was at school one would have said, "I swear by the Bible." But Bibles were not encouraged at Experiment House.)

Or:

What made Scrubb look so dingy (and Jill too, if she could only have seen herself) was the splendour of their surrounding. I had better describe them at once.

Yup, I definitely have a story I wrote back in second grade that contains all sorts of asides like that. At one point, I advise the reader to go get a drink of water, and procede to count to ten in order to give him time to do so. Hey, I was only seven. Anyway, I've been thinking of all the books I read when I was very young and trying to see how they have influenced my style. I think I tend to write my emotional climaxes in the same style as Madeleine L'Engle, and that I like disturbing twists--where something good suddenly becomes evil--much like Lois Lowry's The Giver.

Speaking of writing fiction, NaNoWriMo sign-ups should be starting on October 1st! Hurrah! I am so excited to make more time for writing. It's amazing what time you can find when you look for it. For instance, I just finished my essay for the homecoming essay contest (wish me luck!) in spite of the fact that I have two tests this week.

And on the subject of children's books, there are quite a few of my favorites currently being optioned for movies. Walden Media has the rights to The Dark is Rising, The Giver, and Bridge to Terabithia, and then there's Ender's Game and The Golden Compass. Of course, most of them will probably stay in development hell for a long time. (I've been following the Ender's Game movie since, oh, 2002-ish.) Now someone just needs to option The Westing Game and The Egypt Game, and pretty much my entire childhood library will be on film. A Wrinkle in Time is already a fairly decent TV mini-series. I like. I should buy the DVD. I have to agree with Joni on book movies--they're fabulous!

Progymnasmata: Chreia

This progymnasmata is a little harder to explain than that of the fable. There's a good description on BYU's rhetoric website which I discovered the other night. I'm going to need to go through that website. It looks really cool. Anyway, the chreia is basically an explication on a quote or action that demonstrates some principle--more direct in meaning than either a narrative or a fable. Anyway, here's mine, since I probably won't have any time to blog today.

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C. S. Lewis is often cited as the non-Mormon most quoted during General Conference. His careful study and defense Christian beliefs make him an ideal source to appeal to for a clear and concise explication of many of the more subtle doctrines of the gospel. He is able to illuminate the principles behind principles which might otherwise seem irreducible. For example, on the subject of good and evil, C. S. Lewis once said, “Good is, so to speak, itself: badness is only spoiled goodness.” The purpose in doing good things is self-evident: people enjoy going good things because they are inherently rewarding. On the other hand, evil deeds are only a twisted method of trying to obtain a good reward. For example, a man may steal money in order to support his family or better afford other necessities. One who commits adultery is trying to find an alternate route to the love or pleasure once afforded him by other relations. Evil cannot function without a good impulse to pervert. Some deeply hardened souls may claim to do evil for its own sake, much as a righteous man does good deeds simply from his nature. But even in saying so, they admit the falseness of their position. To do evil for its own sake is to take pleasure in evil acts, but pleasure itself is a good and righteous motivation which the man has only perverted by connecting it to things from which he ought not to derive pleasure. Just as a boy attempting to avoid his school work tries to find a shorter route by copying off his neighbor, an evil man is attempting to shortcut to the rewards of goodness without putting in the effort necessary. In the war in heaven, was not Satan’s goal—the salvation of all men—a righteous end? Indeed, it is the same end sought by our Heavenly Father and many righteous prophets. The evil was not in Lucifer’s end, but in his method of achieving it. It is just as Alma tells his son in the Book of Mormon: those who do evil are seeking happiness (an obviously good thing) by doing that which is wicked and contrary to the nature of happiness. Thus we can fully see the illuminating simplicity of C. S. Lewis’ description of the nature of evil.

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BTW, I skipped the second progymnasmata, narrative, because I just borrowed a narrative from one of my other blog posts. :D Yay for double counting!

Mixed Feelings

I'm glad I actually went to the devotional today instead of being a slacker. I have never been so simultaneously inspired, insulted, and infuriated--apparently those emotions are not mutually exclusive. A full blog review of the subject will have to wait until it's rebroadcast on Sunday, possibly sooner if it goes up on BYU Broadcasting before then. Suffice to say that his remarks reminded me of concepts from Abolition of Man by CS Lewis, "The Literate Family"--an old forum talk by Douglas H. Thayer--and, horrifyingly enough, Fascinating Womanhood. And yes, I am aware that the speaker was a seventy.

What else, what else . . . . Oh, interesting podcast brought to my attention by the Pre-Law office: Spirit in the Law is about being LDS and a lawyer. Interesting stuff. One more reason for me to get around to buying a memory card for my phone so I can start listening to podcasts on the go again.

Reflections on Introductions

So, I picked up Jesus the Christ at the library yesterday. I've never read this book before, but I decided it's high time that I started picking up some of the church classics. (No, From First Date to Chosen Mate does NOT count--though it is hillariously good reading, right Marisa?)

I've only just finished the introductions to the book (there are about three or four in my copy) describing how it came about, and I've already had several amazing realizations as a result.

The origins of the book have reinspired my desire to learn more about the history and mythology of BYU, or more generally the Church's role in higher education. Apparently, the inspiration for Jesus the Christ was a series of lectures given at what was called in the preface the Latter-day Saint University or alternately the University Sunday School. Very interesting.

Also, reading about this series of lectures reminds me of why I love being at BYU, or in Utah in general. Sure, as most people point out, you end up with some very inbred (ideologically speaking) church members. But I just love feeling like I am at the heart of the action in the church. Being at the place where it all happened, and is happening, and will happen. It just send chills down my spine to think of the steps we are making in the pursuit of truth and Zion. I don't think I could ever leave Utah for very long, for all my complaints about the heat. Not to mention that all my family is here; it's hard enough being an hour away from my grandparents and aunts and uncles--being in another state for very long might be impossible. I mean, maybe I could move out for a few years, but I definitely plan to raise my children in Utah, preferably Salt Lake.

The idea of University Sunday School brings me to another point, related to my previous complaints about Sunday School and the BYU Religion Department. Apparently this book was once used as a text for the "advanced Sunday School" class in the church. Why do they not have this anymore? I mean, you've got your Gospel Essentials, for new converts, etc. And then you have the specialized classes--family history, marriage and family, temple prep, mission prep. And then we just throw everyone else in Gospel Doctrine, which usually ends up being a pretty general review of the stories in the scriptures (with some questionable historical facts thrown in) and applications of the principles in them. But I can just see how much cooler Advanced Sunday School would be--kind of like CS Lewis Society, only maybe a little more doctrinal.

Then again, maybe this kind of distinction was done away with because of the possibility for pride and contention: who gets to go to advanced SS? And if it's by choice, how do you handle the difference between those who chose to go and those who don't, without saying one group is more spiritual, or mainstream, or intellectual . . . . Possibly also done away with because of the expansion of the church--not every ward would have someone qualified enough to teach it, if anyone can consider themselves to be. Maybe I should just trust the Church's organization more. It's all done for a reason, I assume.

Finally, James E. Talmage is definitely going on my list of writing heroes, which is good, since the current list is very short: Orson Scott Card and CS Lewis. I mean, what better place to write a book than in the temple? I've got to remember that for when I finally get around to writing these books that keep poking into my mind. Also, he sets a good example in that books never get written when you have your hands in too many other projects. I mean, Jesus the Christ would probably have never been finished had the First Presidency not almost ordered him to work on it exclusively. This says something about the productivity of taking on too many projects at once (Ben, this means you).

My Philosophy of Fun

Wednesday night at institute our stake president's wife said something that might have been a slip of the tongue--or just a poorly constructed sentence--which I can't stop thinking about. It went something like this: "Being single is a time to practice vital life skills and habits you will need when you get married, like eating right, exercising, self-discipline, following the commandments, and having fun."

Having fun as a life skill, huh? I like it. I think I'll have much more fun working on that than many of the others. :D More than a little dry humor there, but still it's set me thinking: is the ability to have fun a life skill?

I've come to the conclusion that yes, it probably is. It involves knowing when you are taking too much work on yourself (work-a-holics, this means you!) and being able to take time off to just do things that are fun. Yes, work can sometimes be fun--I'll admit I pretty much love writing English essays for school--but don't you think there is a difference between the fun you have enjoying your work and fun you have just having fun? When you start transforming your hobbies into work, they lose some of the element of fun. For instance, when I started knitting something as a wedding present for a friend, instead of just fooling around making stuff for me, knitting took on a new character--still fun, but sort of a burden at the same time. Somehow not as relaxing as before.

And that's the main thing about having fun, I think: relaxing. Fun is sort of like the sleep we can do while we're awake: you can be free from the constraints that every day life puts upon you and just have a good time, doing something for no other reason than because you enjoy it. Not to create a finished product, not to hone your skills, or learn things, or help others, or even to spend quality time with other people (which is a kind of work--at least if you are me). Just for fun. It's like CS Lewis and an essay I read at the Writing Center both said: what is the purpose of a sport? Not to win, but to have fun (which is why games get boring when people become too competitive).

It's the same reason I play video games, or ARGs, since that's what I'm into now: to do something that doesn't count. Unlike real life where the ending is crucial, there is (usually) no eternal consequence to a game. You can just do things without the pressure you feel in real life.

So get out there and have fun.

If you need a game to play, ask me for a copy of the rules I recently devised for a backwards scavenger hunt, inspired by the Zen Scavenger Hunt on Avant Game. We played it at FHE and it was one of the best activities I've had in a long time, and hilarious too. What's the key to world domination? Why, a plunger, of course!

And now I'm going to go run in the rain while the thunder is still going!

The "Same Old Thing"

Another post inspired by The Screwtape Letters. Sheesh, CS Lewis is such a genius. Anyway, on my way to school today, I was reading letter 25, in which Screwtape advises Wormwood on the use of the "Same Old Thing" philosophy to distract people from what they should be doing. Here's a description of this concept straight from the book (if you haven't read the book, note that this passage is written from the point-of-view of a devil, and thus the "Enemy" is God and the goal is to get man away from Him):

The horror of the Same Old Thing is one of the most valuable passions we have produed in the human heart--an endless source of heresies in religion, folly in counsel, infidelity in marriage, and inconstancy in friendship. . . . [T]he Enemy (being a hedonist at heart) has made change pleasurable to them, just as He has made eating pleasureable. But since He does not wish them to make change, any more than eating, an end in itself, He has balanced the love of change in them by a love of permanence. . . .

Now, just as we pick out and exaggerate the pleasure of eating to produce gluttony, so we pick out this natural pleasantness of change and twist it into a demand for absolute novelty. This demand is entirely our workmanship. . . . Only by our incessant efforts is the demand for infinite, or unrhythmical, change kept up.

I've personally been thinking about this problem a lot, both in the church as a whole and in my own life. A particular example of this problem which has been bothering me comes from a sacrament meeting in my ward. The subject of the meeting was to be on the resurrection, one of the most basic, beautiful, and essential doctrines of the gospel. The first speaker was from our student ward and the second was a high council speaker.

When the student got up, he started with the usual banter about being nervous, the bishopric calling him to speak, etc. But when he got to his topic, he said that he was supposed to speak about the resurrection, but that was a boring topic since everyone pretty much already understood that, so he decided to talk about a "personal resurrection" (his term for a change of heart) instead. I was first disappointed: I was really looking forward to hearing a talk about the hope afforded to us by the resurrection. But I decided to make the best of it and enjoy this talk anyway. Conversion and change, after all, is something we all need to work on. But as I was listening to the talk, I became even more annoyed and bewildered. Almost all of his talk came from self-help books, secular leaders, or popular sayings. When I started keeping count a few minutes in, I noted only one reference to Christ and possibly two scriptures or General Authority quotes.

To make matters worse, the High Council speaker had a similar problem: though he did sort of talk about the resurrection, there were even fewer quotes from General Authorities or scriptures in his talk. Instead, he spent the entire fifteen minutes listing a whole bunch of "faith-promoting rumors" about people who had survived near death experiences, and how this somehow proved that there was life after death, which sort of proved there was a resurrection, and wasn't that nice? The next week was fast Sunday, and my mind was probably still on this problem because all of the roommate-imonies, good-book-imonies, something-I-learned-in-class-imonies, and BYU-religion-department-imonies bothered me a lot more than usual.

It's a problem that seems to be unusually magnified at BYU, since we are surrounded by the gospel not only for 3 (more like 5) hours of meetings on Sunday, but in class, at home, at work. Theoretically, this should be a good thing: we are supposed to make the gospel a part of everything in our lives, like the foundation is to a house. But this massive exposure seems to have the side effect of causing some people to be "bored" with the gospel, bored of the same, simple "Sunday School" right answers--though the fact that such simple answers exist is, to me, one of the most joyous parts of the gospel. And when they are bored, they start looking for ways to make the doctrines of truth into new, novel concepts. (From this concept, we can infer the evolution of what is now the LDS publishing industry. Seriously, every time I walk into Deseret Book, I want to gag at the consumerism of it all.)

As much as I love CS Lewis and other inspiring figures, the main focus of our meetings should be on the basic doctrines of the gospel as taught by the scriptures, General Authorities, and the Spirit, no matter how long we have been in the church. Yes, I realize that the GA's occasionally quote world leaders, CS Lewis, and even Fiddler on the Roof. I have two answers to this: first, they tend to do so in moderation, spending the majority of their talks on scriptures and personal testimony; second, they are GA's, so they have a greater ability to discern truth out of these non-cannonical sources than your average church member.

What I mean is, we should be teaching out of sources that are "safe." When you are dealing with your own spiritual growth, sure, seek learning out of the best books, and the spirit will guide you to discern the truth. But when it comes to teaching others, what the spirit uses to teach you may not be what they need. So stick to the basic sources recommended to all members of the church. Don't make your home teaching thought a quote by Nelson Mandela. Yes, this happened to me. Innovative as it was, I would have much preferred one from the Ensign, or the scriptures.

My personal way to make sure that I stay on the the strait and narrow in my teaching is the SQRT formula: for every concept I want to teach, I look for a personal Story, a GA Quote, a scripture Reference, and give my personal Testimony. This keeps it simple and doctrinal, and keeps me from teaching out of the Book of Liz to those who don't need it or aren't ready for it.

No, the doctrines of the gospel are not new concepts, but why should they be? People through out all ages of history face basically the same problems, and the Lord doesn't need to invent new answers to problems He has already given us the answers to. Give me a meeting where we "preach nothing save it were repentance and faith on the Lord, who had redeemed his people" (Mosiah 18:20). Every time we are called upon to give us lesson, let us put it to the test of 2 Nephi 25:26:

And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.

After Poem Wind-Down, in Prose

Funny how sometimes when you think you know just the right person to cheer you up or help you out, the universe sends the exactly wrong person. But today, he ended up being the right person because he made me realize all that I am not. I am not hopeless, clueless, or alone. That I do have skills, that I could be likeable, that there is hope for joy.

And I know the answer to my poem is in What the Thunder Said. But how does one get there from the Wasteland? (Sorry for the literary reference, but if you haven't read it, you should. And then you should talk about it with someone who has, or it won't mean anything.) My life is so centered on being lost, different, and alone that it's difficult to see the pathway to being part of something. I seem to have an idea of the bridge, in which I'm sure Christ is involved, but the path is still hazy to me.

Perhaps this all comes about from reading the Screwtape Letters. Or it's another factor anyway. I know, I should hardly dare to put CS Lewis on my interests list if I haven't read it before, but there's a first time for anything. But that part about keeping our beliefs in the theoretical, thinking it is enough to simply think about action, and allowing that to lead us to complacency, that hit to my core. That's me--living in the world of my ideals.

A sign on a professor's door in the Benson building reads:

Theoretically, there's no difference between theory and practice.
Practically, there is.

And that sums up my problem: I know a lot about people and relationships theoretically, but practically is another matter. I am not good at risking myself, trying, caring, being there. And I feel I should be, despite the fact that I have never done so. As a child, I never played games until I was sure I could win (which probably explains my aversion to sports). That continues to today. I have never actually played Risk, but I have watched it so many times. Video games, same deal: I've seen them all, played none. Never played DDR, but I like the idea of it. Ultimate Frisbee, definitely not at all. And relationships, where it's not a game, are much worse. How can I possibly learn how to win before I start?

In order for me to ever find what I seek, I must be willing to "take chances, make mistakes, and get messy." But I am not. I need to find a way to be able to. I could try locking myself off, but clearly that's not something I would do. I try to keep my self at the surface, but as a result I have to be very cautious or I can break. Do break, actually, but we try to keep the damage down.